Returned late from Hamburg, it was about 3 a.m., and I couldn’t fall asleep for many, many hours. I sat there in exhaustion, tired, sad and somehow lost in my flat which seemed unbearably big and painfully small at the same time. The evening in Hamburg was nice, though. Lovely food, great conversation.
In my car, I listened to Banco de Gaia’s smashing »You Are Here« album, one of his best to date. Jennifer sang a song called »Grey Over Grey«, a heartbreaking, twelve-minute song about love and loss which made me cry over and over again, so I thought I’d change the tunes: Brel. »Ne me quitte pas«. Splendid. Then: Sir Peter Ustinov’s magnificent essays, nicely read by Anke Engelke. A nostalgic and rather sad drive through Germany by night.

Only two days ago, I learned that my new movie, »Glastage«, will be shortened. From 90 to 40 minutes. Ouch! But I assume that’s just the way it goes, right? The kind of things you have to deal with as a writer-actor without any rights. Frankly, it didn’t annoy me again, but it added to this odd feeling of loneliness and sadness which I cannot quite cope with. Plus, I’m unable to find its origins. Where does it come from, I don’t know.
X. called me. Felt insecure and lost again. Anybody tell me why? He’s, like, hundreds of kilometres away. Any harm done. Confusion. Confusion. Experienced quite some times before, but it irritates and hurts like the first time. Just got out my old Sade albums. She somehow manages to find the right expressions anytime … any given moment … any given sorrow.